21 June 2015

O my: what a darling man. And how I
miss him. With "Sometimes a Great Notion," Paul Newman, nearly the same
age, reminds me of my own father, AmTaham True. Caring and so generous,
this: “I know now that all of Herod Edinsmaier’s hatred of AmTaham
was borne out of Dr. Edinsmaier’s own incredible narcissistic need for
attention and his quenchless insecurities. AmTaham simply threatened
the beYesus out of Herry. True it was and couldn’t have been truer:
AmTaham was not rich in material fortune and booty – loot treasure and
was never going to be.

From off of the same scripted page as the
bumpkin idiot hayseed comment of his, Dr. Edinsmaier deplored what he
considered to be a coming ‘fact’ in his future: that he, Herry, because
he was married to me, would have to be responsible in some financial
way, let alone, in actual physical elder care, for both Mehitable and
AmTaham in their old, old age. And that thinking of his, that this
actual work of taking care of his in – laws would, in some manner, be
his fate even before AmTaham or Mehitable were in any way at all either
physically or financially incapacitated, vexed Herry no end.

While
AmTaham was never going to roll in the dough, he did embody everything
else –– and did so with such ease, grace and honor –– that Herry himself
was never, ever going to be. Simply for starters, AmTaham was gorgeous
even as an older man and, finally, an old man. And, as you can imagine
then, too, as a young suitor of my mother and soldier in uniform or
garbed in his usual rugged livery of blue jeans, flannel shirt and denim
barn coat, AmTaham was a stunner.

As a three – year – old and a 13 –
year – old and a 33 – year – old, I thought AmTaham True the awesomest
composition of adult human maleness ever, ever orchestrated. He was
tall, 6’2”. His were the always, always completely uncovered coal
shocks of thick, slightly wavy, long black hair, the chiseled and ruddy
cheekbones, the magnificent nose and the confident countenance and
bravura of a true Ancestor in the making. AmTaham True.” excerpt from
Mother – Fucking , chapter 18: “The Company One’s Mind Keeps,” p 122

Straight up:Dr.
Herod Edinsmaier has tried – unsuccessfully – since Christmastime 1992, when
the last state district court order fell down upon us, to strike a deal for his
fable with the Hollywood – based – on – a – true – story industry.

“I saw the contract, Ma.It was for $100,000 plus 5% of somethin’.What’s that mean, 5%?It was really, really thick.It has many, many pages,” Jesse recounted.

Zane’s voice lowered.It seemed to trail away from my ear as, in that itty bitty park with one
shelter and two picnic tables, he confirmed to me a day after I’d hooked up
with Jesse, “Well, yeah, ya’ know, Ma, it would have made you out to look like
the … murderer.”

I white – knuckled the steering wheel.Jesse continued, “But you knew that, didn’t
you, Ma?‘Cuz the movie company, they’ve
been talkin’ to you about the deal, too, haven’t they, Ma?You knew that ‘cuz it’s ‘cuz of you that the
deal fell through, isn’t it, Ma?”

That one ear that works was struck as if stoned.What had he been up to now?It was 08 April 1994.I thought I could anticipate anything from
him.After all, he was so predictable,
Herry was.I thought there was nothing
he could do, no trick he could pull, no lie he could tell – inside or out of a
courtroom even – that I wouldn’t be prepared to learn of by now.

After all, every single evening six evenings a week for five
years, I had practiced a meditative routine, Zen – like, at my mailbox.A self – survival and protection thing Mehitable hadn’t taught me,
that’s for sure.I would drive up the
street to my freezing and vacant icebox of a home and begin the deep, slow
breathing to neutralize the epinephrine surge that would begin involuntarily
and daily at the top of the turn.After
the 04 October 1988 knocking knell at the door and the William Conrad – sized,
but surly, private detective, my first encounter with this genre of
professional ever, had served me up the divorce papers jacketed in their cozy
periwinkle cardstock instead of my just getting them thrown through the mail
slot of the palatial 5221 Othello Drive family dwelling, this catch in my chest
had swiftly gotten to be a Pavlovian response.Swing onto Havencourt Drive – and it materialized.

So my mind had taught itself to focus on something that
would emanate warmth and light, like the western sky of the setting sun, as I
continued up the block to the driveway.And by the moment that I reached into the standard black - flap mailbox
for the small bundle of envelopes there, I had then had sufficient time to
prepare for and insulate myself from the ones with letterhead return addresses
of the various lawyers and the various state district and appellate
courts.When there were such letters
there, I had already by now mentally run through the worst – case scenario of
what was on their pages and could detach my mind from the physical pain that
would come from actually reading then what was on the inside of such envelopes
when I finally got inside the house.This ritual occurred daily.It
had to.This was the way I could take on
the hits.Except on Sundays when, of
course, the mail didn’t come.Sundays
were a reprieve day.

****

Here I was at last, 3½ years since Saturday, 13 October
1990, since the Boys’ judicially sanctioned abduction, here I was in Montclank,
West Virginia, now, April 1994, risking it all.Whatever the ‘it’ was that I might have even had.I mean, when I can no longer have any contact
whatsoever with my kids, what exactly is the ‘it’ I am risking now anyhow? For one clandestine meeting with my own
children.

I was so overjoyed. I
had actually found one – Jesse – in training and practicing with other freshmen
at the cinder track beside the high school in an adjoining burg, Grubtrop, West
Virginia.After practice we had driven
over to some park he knew of and directed me to in nearby Montclank for
secrecy.

One tear silently tracked down my drawn cheek in Ol’
Black’s front seat packed to the hilt on its passenger side.I looked through the rear – view mirror at
Jesse sitting just right behind me and quietly stated out of the clear blue,
“Before I die, Jesse, I am getting this down on paper.I have to write this down.I am not going to be dead an’ve had no way of
leaving my Truth for you three to know.All you know now is what the judges ordered and what Herry and Ms.
Fannie Issicran McLive have told you.So
then … you don’t know.I have to write a
book, Jesse.”

… to which, just as much out of that blue, Jesse replied, “
… Okay sure Ma, but the TV movie deal fell through ‘cuz of you, didn’t it?”

I didn’t think there existed a maneuver of Herry’s about
which I wouldn’t be prepared to learn.That is, until Jesse’s innocent, few – word revelation about some made –
for – TV film contract.

“Always prepared” now and without skipping a beat, I
nonchalantly declared, while gripping the wheel to keep from shaking and
showing it, “Well, ya’ know, Jesse, those movie contracts, they’re all pretty
standard.Nothing, ya’ know, unusual now
really.”

Nothing unusual?Nothing unusual?!M’god, I had
just learned that this man, Dr. Edinsmaier, had been trying to sell his soul
and those of his three Boys and mine to the highest bidder!And when I, in that very split second,
realized that, it all made perfect sense.Of course, he had been.Of
course, he had tried to do this.Had
tried to get more money into his life again.First, by not having to pay out child support ‘cuz he’d gotten the kids,
now a movie deal that paid fairly well.Certainly well enough to recover any previous court and lawyer
outlays.With some profits left over to
boot.Of course, he had done such a
thing.

After all, this is the exact same individual who had gotten
clean, slick away in an American courtroom in the third trial of this matter
back in October 1992, WITHOUT CALLING ONE SINGLE WITNESS TO THE STAND to
testify for his side or on his behalf.NOT EVEN HIMSELF!And yet had
managed to maneuver ‘the court’ therefrom, the State of Iowa’s Second Judicial
District Court, the far less than ‘honorable’ Judge Harley Butcher, which, of
course, is the real name of ‘the
Court’, to order that the Boys and I have ABSOLUTELY NO CONTACT WITH EACH OTHER.

Obviously, it doesn’t take too many witnesses to maneuver
‘the court’ when you are a white male bigwig pillar of a middle - class
American community.Precisely like the
pillars that are that same community’s lawyers and judges.Actually, it takes exactly zerowitnesses.Did you catch that?Does the incredulity of that ‘finding of fact’ sink in to you,
Reader, yet?

Why, these pillars are masterful schmoozers on the golf
greens, the racquetball courts and in the steam room Wednesday and Friday
afternoons after allegedly smashing each other about first in morning sessions
on those courts that are laid out inside little American county seats.It’s their usual manner of declaring
‘respect’ for each others’ legal genius and prowess.

More money in his life, too, because this feat involved no
paying off whatsoever by Dr. Edinsmaier.

He hadn’t even needed to consider doing that.Besides being messy and risky, that just
wasn’t necessary.‘The Court’, Judge
Butcher, given the same set of Dr. Edinsmaier’s circumstances would have
accomplished the same thing had he been the children’s father and been pissed
off by such a pussy as obviously was the former wife of the good, good
doctor’s, that piece of pussy cunt named Dr. Legion True.

****

Absolutely no contact with each other.Now that is
unusual, you say?

Not really.Not at
all.O, sure, it was a precedent.A precedent,
mind you!

But that didn’t stop a district court, a court of appeals or
a supreme court.They knew they had no
need to explain away themselves and their rulings to a peon female with
absolutely no money and … no attorney.

What is she going to do?Demand an explanation of how it is that they all can, in the State of
Iowa, in any state of America,
legally, let alone, morally nail her and her Boys?Yeah, right.Like, sure she is.They just do
it, no explaining, no need to.

The good doctor wants her to have no contact?The good judges, who look like they come
from, which they ‘course do, the same Pendleton wool bolt that the good doctor
comes from, order up what he wants them to.What they would want him to order up if they were in his very white,
white shirt, its collar trimmed and secured with the diamond – studded gold
clip, and in his glove - snug Armani oxfords instead.

No witnesses.But,
hey, still no contact Judge Butcher carved out.And so ordered.

Maybe blindness but more likely that 'good' men .B E N E F I T. from their silences re sexism: the 'good' men who .themselves. benefit from their silences re the sexism .hourly. visited upon their own mothers, their spouses, their daughters, their girlfriends and so forth.

02 June 2015

From Dr Jerry Coyne and Why Evolution is True of 02 June 2015, thus: "But
there comes a time, and the time is now, when those who traffic in such
accusations must be called to account, particularly when they’ve erred, tarred
someone’s reputation, and then, when their accusations prove to be false,
quietly ignore them rather than admit error.

This behavior is shameful and
reprehensible, and it is properly called out."

From the Battered Women’s J
U S T I C E Project, " … … we know from our work that when people talk about
false allegations, they often refer to mothers who make false allegations of
abuse by fathers, ostensibly to ‘get a leg up’ in a custody case.

Rarely do we
hear people talk about fathers who make false allegations against mothers (that
they are ‘crazy,’ for instance).

In our experience, when a mother says, ‘he’s
abusive,’ family court practitioners ALMOST ALWAYS TRY TO FIGURE OUT IF SHE IS
LYING !

Yet, when an allegedly abusive father says, ‘she’s crazy,’ family court
practitioners almost ALWAYS try to figure out if she’s crazy. THEY RARELY ASK
WHETHER FATHERS RAISE ! FALSE ! ALLEGATIONS OF MENTAL ILLNESS to ‘get a leg up’
in a custody case.

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About Me

! My thoughts are as free as wind o'er the ocean,
No one can see their form or their motion.
No hunter can find them, no trap ever bind them.
MY LIPS may be STILL, ... ... BUT ... I THINK WHAT I WILL ! ( as, and in the manner, of Alsatian pacifists, World War II )
! The whole body of SCIENCE is PROOF against all gods from all religions !
"The most important attribute for 'a real scientist' is: to actually .understand. some science." -- Dr Brian Cox